


It's A Rough Life

by sleepyMoritz (Catherss)



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Awkwardness, M/M, Outed, Period-Typical Homophobia, Present Tense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-06
Updated: 2016-12-06
Packaged: 2018-09-06 20:08:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8767399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catherss/pseuds/sleepyMoritz
Summary: "Newt," Credence starts, and Newt, yes, he wants to possibly just end it right then and there. He knew he was being dramatic, but he was completely unequipped for this. Perhaps someone should write a book on it all. "The Somewhat Homosexual's Guide to Day-to-Day Life: How to Navigate Friendships With Men and Women Whilst Remaining Dignified and Discreet". He would buy that.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I think I died about a billion times writing this. As always you can find me on Tumblr at sleepymoritz. I might add more to this cause it ends a little abruptly but whatever.
> 
> Edit as of 21:48 6/12/16 GMT - Changed some words, corrected mistakes.

 

Credence takes the bucket with a short, sharp smile, and then makes his way over to the enclosure. Most things about Credence are sharp, on edge, raw. How he holds himself, how he shivers with fear over small things, things Newt can't identify but set off panic alarms in Credence's head. He’d taken to the animals remarkably well. Newt half wishes he still had Frank; he reckons they would have gotten along swimmingly.

Credence tips the bucket upside down and empties the raw meat onto the dusty ground.

"Don't bother waiting for her to come out," Newt calls over from the sheds. "She doesn't like eating in front of people."

Credence nods, silent as ever, but just as he's about to walk away, the snake-like animal slithers out of it's hiding place. She tastes the air and changed colour from a dusty brown to her natural bright, dangerous red. Credence slowly crouches, holds out his hand.

"Credence, I'm not sure that's a good idea." Newt warned, not overly worried (this particular mutaserpentis was a very docile breed), but still cautious - even the most domesticated dog will bite.

"Is she poisonous?"

"She isn't poisonous, but unless you're planning on cooking her up, the more important fact is that she is not venomous."

Credence shoots him a look which clearly says  _alright showoff_ , and Newt laughs. Credence turns back to the animal and she regards him for a second, then her scales again change to a light blue.

"Oh, gosh," Newt says, just smiling, a little bit in awe. "She must really like you."

The animal then inches forward to his palm as Credence turns away, shutting his eyes and holding his breath, looking still and frozen in time, his shoulders set as he waits. He looks quite handsome, Newt releases, a set jaw and nice lips and jagged lines. He has flashes of somewhat inappropriate thoughts that he controls after a moment of getting over them. Even though Newt was fully aware of the fact no, he wasn't actually attracted to the beasts he was so fond of (as he was often accused of in Hogwarts, in perhaps less polite terms) but to humans, it always shocked him a little bit. Not very gentlemanly. Not very appropriate. Especially not in regards to one like Credence, not only a few years younger but still recovering from… _Everything._

The animal hits Crendence's hand and the tension is gone. Newt, no longer particularly concerned and having things to do, turns only to see Queenie there, her mouth wide open.

 _Oh dear_ , he thinks.

She turns on her heel and strides out of the enclosure, back to the workshop, and then up out of the suitcase. Newt follows suit, trying to as quietly as possible (no fuss, _thank you very much_ ) call her name. He clambers up after her and then spins around to find her hunched over the kitchen counter, hands gripping the marble.

Newt doesn't actually know what to say once he's face to face with her, so he stands in an awkward silence, wanting to curl in on himself. What could he say? _It isn't how it looks_? How could he say that when she witnessed first hand his immediate thoughts?

"I'm sorry," he mumbles. Seems like a good way to start. Very British. Mother would be proud.

She turns around, eyes just peeking through her golden hair. "So. I guess that's why you're not into Tina." _Queenie, gosh,_ he thinks, _always the upbeat_. Should he have expected less?

 _People like him always expect less_ , he amends grimly.

"Tina is lovely," he insists.

"Just not your type of lovely," she huffs. "I'm sorry. Shouldn't have worried you there. It's just a shock. You don't exactly come across as..." She trails off helplessly.

Newt leant against the kitchen table. "I'd hope so."

Queenie leans against the counter and looks at him for a second, and Newt can see her recalculating her image of him. He feels her, just, in his head - not digging, but looking out over the rippling image of his mind. "You're scared."

"Aren't we all?"

"You're scared of yourself."

Newt shrugs, staring down at the floor. "It's not easy being someone like me in this world."

"An invert." She adds pointlessly.

"I don't like that word," he replies, grimacing. "Not entirely true."

"Why, you got some love for women up your sleeve too? Newt, you will never cease to surprise."

He grins. "A little. I bring it out on special occasions."

She giggles, and suddenly it's all okay.

"You won't kick me out?" He asks.

"No," Queenie picks up her wand and for a second Newt thinks she's going to use it against him. But then the cabinet opens and a glass floats out. She grabs it and makes herself some water. "But maybe you shouldn't tell Tina. She ain't been around the block as many times as me."

"I understand." Newt smiles slightly.

"I once knew a guy like you at a perfumery I worked when I was younger. He was from across the pond too," Queenie says, taking a thoughtful sip. "Brown hair, smart dresser, had an uncanny resemblance to a llama. Maybe you knew him?"

Newt snorts. "I don't know all the... whatevers in Britain."

"You mean there ain't a society?" She asks, putting on a little bit of shock.

"Unfortunately not. Perhaps someone should sort that out." He looks up at her from the floor, where his eyes are usually trained (habit from too many bites around the ankles whilst exploring, or so he likes to tell people, should they ask, which granted is not often). "You're taking this remarkably well. I've had others do much worse when they found out." Leta, he thinks.

Queenie shrugs, takes a sip. "Seeing people's thoughts... I think there's a lot more like you than people care to admit. There's even women who like you."

"What, who like men? I'm afraid have some bad news to break."

She laughs. "No, who like the same... type." The whole conversation is stilted. It feels as if there should be a whole vocabulary for what they were trying to express, but instead there was just a gaping void. Newt knew a lot of words, prided himself on it, even, but there weren't many kind words for him, or what they were talking about. Someone should write a book, Newt decides. Not him though. He has more important things to write about.

"Oh." Newt chews on that for a second. He'd never actually considered that before. It made sense, he supposes, but the sexuality of women was never something to ponder on for any given time (especially not with Queenie around). He then takes a deep breath and the words that have played on his mind recently tumble out. "Is Credence...?"

"Queer?" She shrugs. "He thinks about Graves an awful lot. Usually it ain't good stuff."

Newt doesn't want to dig any further than that.

 

* * *

 

Newt's boat back to England sets off in a day.

"Come with me to England," Newt says without a thought.

Credence doesn't think either. "Okay."

And that's that.

 

* * *

 

But eventually, it comes up. The human race is about as obsessed with sex as much as any of the beasts Newt has ever come across, only it is more shrouded in fear, guilt, anxiety and mating rituals that are so precise Newt isn't sure if he missed a class or something. At least his creatures knew what they were doing… Sometimes too well. _Memo to self: separate Nancy and Leo's enclosures._

It comes up after they've arrived back in London in Newt's little flat that he hadn't gotten round to moving out of, even when he got the book deal. He hadn't had time to house-search, and now was no exception. Newt's cramped room has two beds as they belonged to the landlord, so, they share a room, which, most nights, is absolutely fine. Of course privacy becomes something of a commodity, and as much as Newt likes spending time with Credence, he does sometimes sneak into the case to unwind with his animals instead. No. Not in that way. Not unwind as in-- Newt does not-- 

It starts with Leta.

Gracious, he needs to be more careful with pictures of her. It's a bit pathetic and a bit embarrassing every time he gets caught out. He doesn't even think about her any more. He _doesn't_. Most the time. But one never forgets one's first _is-this-love_? nor one's best friend for so many years. Oftentimes, should he think of her (which, to reiterate, was _not_ often), it was often just a jealousy of his past self. Someone to confide in was hard to find when you gallivanted the world. Which, really, when Newt thought about it, was a fair trade, especially when this was his absolute dream job. He shouldn't really complain at all.

But anyways, it starts with Leta, as do many things. Credence finds that photo of her in his shed and pauses a moment, anxiety thrumming through him, as it is wont to do. He was getting better though, but Newt wasn't sure if the scars on his soul would ever truly disappear.

"Is this your sweetheart?" He asks.

"No. Goodness, no."

" _O_ _h_." That wasn't a the _oh_ he usually got. Usually it was a bit sharper, a bit shorter, but this was knowing and as if Newt had just revealed some great thing about himself.

Newt's head then snapped up. What--?

Credence is staring at him and Newt wants to just let one of his animals snaffle him right up. Bugger.

"Newt," Credence starts, and Newt, yes, he wants to possibly just end it right then and there. He knew he was being dramatic, but he was completely unequipped for this. Perhaps someone should write a book on it all. _The Somewhat Homosexual's Guide to Day-to-Day Life: How to Navigate Friendships With Men and Women Whilst Remaining Dignified and Discreet_. He would buy that. Though he supposes it would be a banned book, since sodommy wasn't even legal (how exactly that law was enforced Newt did not want to know). Perhaps in his lifetime.

"Yes?"

He pauses a second. "Forget it. I shouldn't ask."

"No, go ahead." He says, smiling nervously, and he hopes Credence picks up on the intonation of _no, do not ask about it_.

"Uh. Have you ever had a lady friend?"

Newt almost slams his head on the tree he's pruning. "No."

"Oh." Credence says. "Newt," he begins.

"Yes, Credence?"

"Are you... Uh..."

Newt sighs and puts him out of his misery. "I'm... fluid, if you will."

"Oh. Okay." Credence hesitates, then says, "me too."

"I know."

"What?" Credence gasps, horrified. "How?"

Newt shrugs and turns to glance at him. He's standing almost at his full height (probably out of shock, poor thing), eyes wide and alarmed. "Queenie thought you might be and I just... Sensed it, I suppose.”

Credence then sighs, " _Queenie_ ," and Newt knows exactly how he feels.

 

* * *

 

There are a few things that is is embarrassing to be caught doing. Firstly is usually anything to do with a mirror. Secondly is something to do with a degree nudity. Third is to do with a social faux pas. (A possible last is one we do not mention in polite company, and therefore will not be mentioned here). The last nail in the coffin is always how one reacts.

Luckily for Newt, he manages to hit all in one fell swoop. Because he's going to lose all respect from Credence, it might as well be whilst squatting, inspecting what could or could not be a sting very close to his nipple in a mirror, and all the while singing a lullaby that he usually sung to his Mooncalves.

_Bugger!_

Clandance freezes at the doorway and then his eyes widen. "Sorry, Mr Scamander, so sorry--"

Newt scrabbles for anything to cover himself with, finds his scarf, then holds it up over his breast, which is somehow even more _excruciatingly awful_ as anything that he'd just been doing. If he had been a more confident man, or even a more manly man, he could have just explained the situation, smile as if to say, “happens to the best of us”, and slip on a shirt. But no, he was there bright red, both of the men in the room waiting for the other to explain exactly what was going on.

"Sorry, I thought--" Credence begins as Newt cuts in with:

"I was just--"

Then, both realising that they were overlapping the other, stopped. Newt groaned and buried his head in his hands.

"I was just inspecting a sting." He gestures to it under the scarf, which was only really covering his nipples and a bit of his chest and literally nothing else. He feels rather self conscious about it all, and Credence looks like he is too.

"Oh." Clandance says. "I was just..." Then trails off uncertainly. "I forgot."

"That's fine."

And then another pause stretches for possibly a good few hours. Newt waits for Clandance to leave; Clandance waits for a dismissal from Newt. Newt bites the bullet and stands, quickly tries to find a shirt, and then turns to face Clandance, who is very much so keeping his eyes trained on his face and not his body.

Merlin, help them both.

 

* * *

 

Once settled in properly to his apartment, Newt receives a note from his brother via Swoopy, a long suffering owl who nips at his fingers in an offended way when Newt sighs on reading the letter, as if he were personally attacking all Swoopy’s hard work. The note reads:

_My brother Newt,_

_I have heard you are back in London. I am offended that you didn’t tell me and therefore will come visit you tonight at 7:00 PM at your apartment. I will bring apple pie - did I tell you I am engaged to be married? She is called Mary and quite the cook. I probably have mentioned Mary in the past but I know you forgot (no need to apologise when I arrive: I accept your sorry in advance.)_

_Please send a note back if this is not convenient, however I may come anyways._

_Kindest regards,_

_Theseus._

That evening, at 6:58 - their mother always told them that on time was late - Newt hears knocking on the door. He leaps up from his sitting on the staircase, waiting for Theseus (and feeling rather like a foolish child whilst at it) to open the door and let him in.

Theseus looks just like he did before he set off for America all those months ago, except he has changed his hairstyle to be more of a handsome, fasionable pompadour. His ring finger, which is on a hand full of apple pie, now has a simple band of gold around it. Theseus smiles his confident smile and holds out his free hand. "Ah, Newt! How was America? Swinging, I imagine?"

Newt takes the hand and smiles. "As always."

He leads him upstairs, and then the moment Theseus crosses the threshold, Newt realises he never had the time to mention Credence, who stands as awkwardly as ever in the kitchen, a kettle in his hand. The moment Theseus' gaze meets his, Credence's anxiety basically shakes out of him, and the kettle almost slips from his hand, but luckily he has enough sense about him to drop it onto the counter with a thud. His eye's drop to the ground just as Theseus sends Newt a questioning look.

"Apple pie," Theseus says uselessly, holding out said food. Credence takes it after a long pause and puts it on the counter. "I don't believe we've met?" Theseus asks slowly, holding out his hand.

Credence looks up and smiles tightly. "I don't believe we have." Hesitantly, he takes Theseus' offered hand. "Credence Barebone."

"Theseus Scamander."

Pause. Then their hands fall away from each other. Newt is sure something had just gone on there, but he doesn't know what. Credence takes the kettle. "Tea? Coffee? Sir." He adds as an afterthought.

"That'd be delightful, Credence," Newt says. "Theseus, can I take your jacket?"

Theseus wordlessly slips out of it and saunters over to the living area whilst Newt hangs the coat on the rack by the door.

"Newt," Theseus asks, voice low so Credence wouldn't hear once he arrives back into the room, "who is he?"

"Credence. Didn’t you hear him introduce himself? I met him in America."

Theseus gives him a long look, the kind he gave Newt when they were children and he was trying to find out what _really_ happened about the mess in the study. He squirms, cheeks starting to heat. He feels unreasonably embarrassed, after all, it's not like he's done anything (strictly speaking) _wrong_. Well, he'd broken a few American magic laws, and perhaps it was a little bit uncouth to give shelter to a man he barely knew, but Newt was, after all, a giver.

"In America? Don't you think it's rather soon to be taking him in like some abandoned dog? He isn’t another Leta, is he?"

"Credence is _not_ an abandoned dog," Newt insists, ignoring the Leta comment, but files it away to be angry about later (there is always a time and a place to be angry, but when one is about to have coffee or tea, then it is probably not the right time or place to get mad). "More like an abandoned child."

"He’s a fully grown man!" Theseus cries, "look at him! He must be at least twenty years of age!"

Newt is about to reply, absolutely with something witty and scathing, but then Credence appears at the doorway, so he decides to spare his brother for the time being.

"Ah! Credence!" Newt says, and then can’t think of anything to follow the exclamation up with.

"Hello," Credence responds. Theseus shoots Newt a look which says, _who the hell is this man and who exactly raised him?_

Newt spots the tray in his hand and feels all his social skills rush back to him. "Tea! And coffee! Thank you, Credence, where would I be without you? Now, Theseus. I have a selection of biscuits as well, perhaps a shortbread? This shortbread is actually from Scotland as, well, would you believe, see someone in the office brought this back from them, from, well, Scotland, and it’s absolutely delightful (or so I’ve been told), would you like to try some?"

Theseus stares at him, then deftly pinches a piece and takes a small bite. "Wonderful," he deadpans.

 

* * *

 

This sounds like the start of a bad joke, thinks Newt. _To awkward men walk into a suitcase. One says to the other,_

"Why don’t you punish me when I get things wrong?"

_And the other says nothing at all back because he is socially inept._

Newt eventually gathers his thoughts and replies, "what right would I have to punish you?"

"I’m living under your roof. Your rules."

"We’re both adults here."

Credence almost seems surprised at that, as if him being an adult had slipped his mind the past few months. "Doesn’t feel like I’m an adult. I don’t even have a job."

"Well, I’m sure something can be arranged… Perhaps you could work entry level at the Ministry? Or in a shop?"

Credence wrings his hands and replies, "but there isn’t anything _to_ that. I feel that… Like there is some purpose I’m supposed to have."

"Most people don’t have a purpose in life," Newt reasons, though he’s never really mused over it for any great deal of time before.

"But they do," Credence insists. "They have a family, or a good job, or a mission. Like you, you have this place, your beasts and your book."

"I didn’t have these when I was your age, Credence. When I was your age, I worked as a paper pusher in some run-down department in the Ministry. I didn’t have anything."

"You had your hobbies."

"I suppose. But I’m sure you must have a hobby."

"Not really."

Newt shakes his head. "Well, if there’s anything you’re interested in, then I’m sure something could be arranged. In the meantime," he says, handing Credence a pail, "filling this with water would be very useful."

 

* * *

 

It is always easier to speak at night. It is always easier to tell truths, whether you would admit them in the harsh light of day or not. It is like the blanket of darkness smothers reality - as though the words are so deeply intertwined into the fabric of the night that they could never be spoken out loud in day without ripping a hole in the world. Without ripping a hole in trust.

Credence wakes and Newt does too, mostly because Credence did not come quietly into consciousness. He doesn’t quite scream, it’s an animal noise, like a howl of pain, and Newt is by his side in an instant, kneeling by the bed.

"Credence? Are you okay?"

Credence looks up at him with wet eyes, then almost tumbles into Newt's sleeping shirt. Newt is a little self concious that it isn't clean but Credence doesn't seem to mind or notice, his body shuddering now with the force of keeping his sobs silent. Newt puts a hand on Credence's shoulder, then another on his back, and pulls him tight into a hug. The sit like that for a while, their heads tucked into the other's neck, shying away from the world.

"What happened?" Newt whispers.

Credence shudders again, then suddenly the tension melts out of him. "I dreamed Graves was back."

Newt pulls away and then looks Credence in the eye. His eyes are big, wide, the iris obscured in the darkness. "What did Graves do?"

Credence's breath hitches, his chest heaves, then he surges forward, mouth to Newt's.

Being kissed unexpectedly is unpleasant in that you struggle to come up with an appropriate response in the time given. That time is stripped away, both fast and slow, and before you know it, the nervous man in front of you pulls away, and Newt wants to say that it's _okay_ , he wants to ask _why_ , he wants to ask if Credence if he’s alright. There are too many things, too quickly, but Credence has already reacted.

Credence scrambles away from Newt, pulling the covers up, and Newt can see his eyes glinting in the darkness as he moves away from the light. "Credence--" Newt begins.

"No," Credence says. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Sir. I shouldn't have. It's wrong, it's immoral. I'm sorry, I'm sorry--" the more he speaks, the more he is overcome with grief again.

"No, Credence, no..." Newt hushes, clambering up onto the bed to sit next to him. "It's okay."

"It isn't okay. Homosexuality is a sin, it's wrong, it's inverted--"

Newt takes Credence's hand. "How could God hate love?"

Credence looks up at him, and shakes his head. "God hates sinners."

"God wants to help sinners, doesn't he?"

Newt is not any kind of a staunch Christian. He barely attended church as a child, instead preferring to spend days in the woods and with his mother's hippogriffs. In all, wizards were not an overly religious people, although some had their own strands of paganism or other fringe beliefs, so he had little frame of reference for Credence.

"So why make God do extra work? Why not just be good?"

"Everyone sins, Credence. Everyone. I've sinned, you've sinned. If we aren't going to hell for those things, why would we for this?"

"Because being an invert is _wrong_ , it's _dirty_."

"Why? Who says so? God never said that."

"Procreation without purpose-- _sinful--_ "

Newt feels his face heat up a little bit. "We don't have to..." He waves his hands generally, as though they could be seen in the dark.

Credence swallows loudly, and Newt can visualise his Adam's apple bobbing. There is a long pause, possibly even a minute or two long. Newt begins to worry.

"I want to sleep now." Credence says abruptly.

"Okay."

"No," Credence grabs his hand as Newt attempts to push himself up. "I want you to stay."

"This, um, bed, it isn't very _wide_ , I'm not sure that it's, you see, _appropriate_ , Credence, I mean, I'd, I'd _love_ to, but you know? You see?"

Credence just tugs his hand and the lies down and Newt is forced to follow, silently grateful that the boundaries of what was or was not socially acceptable weren't ones he had to break today. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> All comments are appreciated!! You can hit me up at sleepymoritz.tumblr.com as well. Thanks for reading!


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